


dressed up as rebellion

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: kissemdanno, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This," Danny said, tone rich with amusement, leaning back against the door of Steve's office, "is like every fantasy I've ever had."</p>
            </blockquote>





	dressed up as rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [kissemdanno](http://kissemdanno.livejournal.com) challenge on LJ. Thanks to amberlynne for betaing!

"This," Danny said, tone rich with amusement, leaning back against the door of Steve's office, "is like every fantasy I've ever had."

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. "Every fantasy, Danny?"

"Okay," Danny said, bobbing his head from side to side in acknowledgement of a fair point, "so maybe there was a little bit of hyperbole going on there, but I just want you to know, Steven, that this is so good for me. This is so very, very good."

Steve rolled his eyes and shrugged, before tugging his undershirt on over his head. "No accounting for New Jersey tastes, I suppose."

"Nuh uh," Danny said. "No blaming this one on Jersey, babe. This is all you."

Steve turned to pick up the freshly laundered shirt from where it lay draped across the couch, and started to peel off the dry cleaner's plastic. "This is not _me_ ," Steve pointed out. "It's for a case."

"Oh, I know," Danny said, "I know," looking like mirth was about to overtake him at any moment. "It hasn't escaped my notice that this is you, about to put on a button-down shirt because your _job requires it_."

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Steve said, wrestling in vain with the plastic until Danny grabbed the shirt from him, unwrapped it efficiently, and handed it back to Steve. Steve tugged the thing on impatiently. 

"You ask this question," Danny said, "as if there could be any other answer than 'no, no you will not.' Because reflect, Steven," he said, batting away Steve's hands and beginning to button up the shirt. It was crisp white cotton with a sedate blue pinstripe, and Steve hated it as he had rarely loathed an item of clothing. "Here you are, a guy known for dressing like you rolled around in the sale bin at WalMart, a guy who—and here I'm not exaggerating one little bit, note how there's no hyperbole when I say that you _stored grenades in my car_ —here you are, about to go undercover as an accountant."

"Danny…" 

"It's like all my Christmases came at once," Danny said, popping Steve's collar so that he could sling a tie around Steve's neck. The tie was solid blue, and Danny's fingers were efficient, looping the material over and around itself with a neatness which Steve could never quite manage. Danny nestled the knot in the hollow of Steve's throat and hummed to himself in satisfaction before smoothing the fabric down to lie just so against Steve's chest. 

"This feels so wrong," Steve said, as Danny took the suit jacket out of its bag. He could hear the whine in his own voice. "This is Hawaii, Danny, no one's going to buy me dressed like this." 

"You, no," Danny said, holding the jacket out for him to try on. "Timothy L. Blackmore, certified public accountant visiting from company headquarters in DC, sure."

Steve stared mournfully at himself in the mirror. After his shower, Danny had insisted on him close shaving, twice, before attacking him with a comb and some hair gel and parting Steve's hair severely on the left. Between all of that and the heavy-framed glasses, Steve barely recognised himself. He looked like a piece of clip-art come to life: keyword, middle management. Just the thought made his skin itch.

"But you know what my favourite part is?" Danny said, fussing with Steve's cuff-links. (Cuff-links. God.)

"You've bet Chin a hundred bucks that I'll have to knock someone out with a stapler while I'm in there?"

"I have done that," Danny said, sounding completely unrepentant. "Two hundred if you can turn a stack of Post-Its into a lethal weapon. But no."

"You've got Kono waiting outside with a camera?"

"Again true, because this is a moment I will want to document to show to my grandkids," Danny acknowledged serenely, gently straightening Steve's cuffs until they came to some precise, Danny-defined length below the end of his jacket sleeves. "but still not my favourite part."

Steve sighed and rested his forehead against Danny's. "What?"

"Well," Danny said, "here's the thing." He moved his hands up to cup Steve's cheek, rubbing his thumbs against the smooth skin. "You're going to go in there looking like this, all clean-cut and restrained." He tapped at the frame of Steve's glasses with the tip of one finger. "You've got your whole Clark Kent drag going on, with the hair and the…" He dropped his hands down, running his palms down along the front of Steve's shirt to rest against his stomach; Steve could feel the warmth of Danny's touch through the crisp cotton. "Secret identity."

It suddenly felt a little warmer in his office. "Yeah?" Steve said, shifting that little bit closer so that the tips of his (highly-polished) shoes bumped against Danny's. 

"Uh huh," Danny said. He shifted so that his mouth was within an inch of Steve's as he spoke. "So you're going to go in there all buttoned up and starched, with your nice suit and your tasteful tie, looking like such a _nice_ boy…"

Steve licked his lips. "But?"

"But," Danny continued, "You and I, we both know that appearances can be all sorts of deceiving, right? So you're going to go in there, and you're going to root out that blackmailer, and then you're going to come home to me."

"Oh?" Steve said, bringing his hands up to rest on Danny's hips. "Back to you, huh?"

"Well," Danny said, pulling back just enough that Steve could see how wicked his grin was—how full of promise. "You needed all this help to get dressed, babe. Just think how much you're going to need to get undressed." One of his hands drifted lower, fingers grazing over Steve's cock, and even through the fine wool of his pants, the touch was enough to make Steve jump. "Probably need to take our time with it, huh?"

"Not playing fair," Steve grumbled, because right now there was nothing he wanted more than Danny's mouth on him, hot and wet, but Timothy L. Blackmore had to be walking through the doors of Artry & Cole Inc. in half an hour's time. 

"So when have you ever fought fair?" Danny said, still grinning. "I've got you here, looking so fetching in your bespoke tailoring, and I've got to send you away for the day. You know what they say about turnabout, my friend."

"Really?" Steve said. He looked over at the mirror again, still not seeing the attraction. Steve thought he looked like a drab photocopy of himself, plus there was no way he'd be able to sprint easily in this outfit, let alone tackle someone if a suspect decided to bolt. Still, it looked like it worked for Danny, and Steve was pretty invested in making sure that Danny got what he wanted. 

"Well, in that case," he said, looking back at Danny, and making sure that Danny was watching as he deliberately made himself _Timothy_ —rounding his shoulders and dropping his gaze, smiling shyly and earnestly up at Danny from beneath his lashes. "If… if you say so, Mr Williams."

Danny blinked up at him in shock, and now it was Steve's turn to fight back laughter of his own. 

"Maybe," Steve said hesitantly, struggling to keep in character, "when you take everything else off, you could leave my tie on? Sir?"

There was a long moment where Danny's eyes seemed to actually glaze over with lust—Steve tried to imagine what he was picturing; Steve laid out on their bed, arms stretched out over his head and bound, legs spread?—before he started to laugh. "You are a ridiculous bastard," he said, smacking Steve on the arm. 

"But you think I'm hot," Steve said, crowding himself that little closer to Danny, smirking, wrapping his arms around Danny's waist. 

"These are not mutually exclusive things, Steve," Danny said. He was still smiling, that bright, present smile that Steve loved to see—the one that Steve loved to know he'd put on Danny's face. "Though right now, I have to admit, both of them are working for you."

"It's because you love me, right?" Steve said, and Danny's answering, "It's a distinct possibility," was muffled against Steve's mouth. Danny's stubble rasped against Steve's clean-shaven chin, his mouth was hot and clever and Steve bit gently at Danny's lower lip, just to thrill at the sound he made in response. 

"You're getting me all rumpled," Steve said when Danny finally pulled away and tucked his face into the curve of Steve's neck. 

The door rattled suddenly with the force of someone's knocking. "Boss!" Kono yelled. "You've got to be at work in twenty minutes! Danny, you've got stop feeling him up, time to go."

"Hey!" Danny yelled back. "Why am I the bad guy in this?"

"Guess she must have seen you undressing me with your eyes," Steve said solemnly, stepping back a little so that he could straighten his jacket. 

"Ha ha," Danny said, "Who knew I was dating a comedian, huh?"

"And an accountant," Steve said. "Multi-talented."

"Apparently," Danny said, and it turned out they had another minute—another thirty seconds—one last kiss—before it was time to walk out the door.


End file.
